


light in the darkest of times

by kinneyb



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Cursed Jaskier | Dandelion, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-23
Updated: 2020-06-23
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:40:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24882448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinneyb/pseuds/kinneyb
Summary: Jaskier was starting to slowly understand the real horror of the curse. It wasn't the curse at all. It was the cruelty of others.Of humans.Jaskier's eyes flickered over the man's shoulder. His chest expanded with a soft laugh. He shook him violently. "What are ya laughing at?""You might not be scared of me," he said lightly, "but I think you'll be scared of him."/Jaskier should really be used to being cursed by now. At least he would always have Geralt to protect him.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 14
Kudos: 506





	light in the darkest of times

**Author's Note:**

> written for one of my supporters!!
> 
> twitter: queermight / tumblr: korrmin

Jaskier would do it again and again, even knowing the consequences. The mage was wild, no longer listening to reason, eyes blazing with unfounded rage. As if Geralt had _meant_ any harm or disrespect when he had taken the job to break the curse on a random townsfolk.

He hadn't known he had been cursed by a mage in town, a very vengeful mage.

Now it was dark, and her anger was a tangible thing, wrapping around his throat and choking him. Jaskier was a few feet away; the mage had been ignoring him the whole time.

Geralt wasn't strong enough to break the magic. His fingers twitched, dropping his sword. Jaskier's stomach lurched with worry.

He had to do something. Geralt was strong, one of the strongest people he knew, but he also wasn't as magically gifted as the mage. He could only do small acts of magic. He didn't stand a chance against her, magic pulsating around his neck, tightening with each curl of her finger.

Jaskier swallowed thickly. It felt like he was the one being choked.

_Don't be a coward,_ his brain whispered. _How many times has he saved you?_

Countless times. Jaskier couldn't even begin to count the ways. Geralt was brave, and selfless, even if he would deny it. He had no magic, of course, but he did have the daggers tucked away in his boot.

The daggers had been gifts. He remembered the look on Geralt's face, almost shy. _"You need to be able to protect yourself."_

He hadn't used them since. Geralt was always there to protect him. But now he would have to be the brave one. At least he had the benefit of being blatantly ignored by the mage. She obviously did not think he was a threat. Her mistake.

Jaskier ignored the look on Geralt's face, now, pained and tight. He gasped for air, but the mage didn't relent. He had to focus. He had to turn his emotions off. He could do that.

He slowly took a step to the side. She didn't even look his way.

"If I release you," she said lightly, "will you run very, very far and never look back?"

He couldn't answer if he wanted to; her magic still choking him. Jaskier's mouth twisted in a frown as he looked away again. Focus.

Jaskier took a second step, a third. His heart pounded as he slipped out of her sight. Behind her, he leaned down and quietly pulled a dagger out of his boot. It was small, heavy. He remembered Geralt explaining:

"These will be best for you, given the size of your hands."

Jaskier looked over at him. He had stopped struggling, arms hanging loosely by his sides. Not good. Not good at all. He had to hurry. Jaskier turned back to the mage.

_Do it, Jaskier,_ a voice whispered in his ear, a voice that sounded suspiciously like Yennefer. _Kill her_. It was the first time, ever, he was happy to hear her voice. Taking a shaky breath, he lifted the dagger.

Without pause, he rushed forward and slammed into her.

She gasped, genuinely surprised, letting her magical grip on Geralt slip. He fell to the ground and gasped, filling his lungs with air. Growling, she spun around. Jaskier already had his dagger poised for it; smiling nastily, he plunged the tip of his dagger into the flesh of her neck.

Her eyes blazed with fire. "How dare—"

She was a mage, but she wasn't immortal.

Jaskier pushed the blade deeper and she howled like a wounded wolf. "Fuck you," he spit in her face. " _Fuck_ you for thinking you could lay a hand—"

Suddenly she lifted a hand, cupping the side of his face. He jerked away, heart pounding. "Darling," she said. "You will regret this."

Jaskier didn't understand the threat at the time, but he would. Her eyes slipped shut, her hand dropping. Frowning, he pulled the dagger out of her throat and she slumped gracelessly at his feet.

His eyes flickered to his shirt, covered in red. It was one of his favorites. "Aw."

But he didn't have long to mourn it because suddenly he heard a pained groan, remembering—" _Geralt_ ," he breathed. He turned, rushing over to him.

He was sitting up, rubbing his throat. Jaskier dropped to his knees.

"Are you okay?" he asked, hands hovering awkwardly in the air. "Can you breathe?"

Geralt let out a few harsh coughs. "I'm okay." He lifted his gaze. "Didn't know you had that in you," he said with a hint of amusement and pride. Pride. Jaskier's heart skipped a beat.

"Well," he said, aiming for casual and very much failing. "I couldn't let you die, now could I? I mean, what would you do without me?"

Geralt snorted, shaking his head. Jaskier smiled slightly and helped him up, wrapping an arm around his waist. They limped back to the inn, slow and steady. It wasn't just his throat that had been hurt during the altercation. Geralt flopped on the bed with a moan, tossing an arm over his face.

Jaskier was silent as he joined him on the bed, pulling the blanket over them both. They were both fast asleep within minutes, still dirtied from the fight.

*

Jaskier opened his eyes. The sun was streaming through the window, warm and bright. Yawning, he rolled over. Geralt was still asleep. He couldn't place it, not yet, but he knew something wasn't quite right. He slowly sat up, rubbing his eyes.

"Um. Geralt?" His voice was small and squeaky. Looking around, he noticed that everything looked so big. _Geralt_ looked so big, like a giant.

Geralt groaned as he opened his eyes. Usually he took a few seconds to wake up fully, but not today. He sat up, eyes wide and alert. "What the fuck?"

Jaskier looked up. "Is this a dream? Please, Gods, tell me this is a dream."

He stared at him. "I don't think so," he said finally. "What did you do, Jaskier?"

"Me?" he replied, jumping to his feet. " _I_ didn't do this!" He suddenly remembered the mage's words. No, her _threat_. He fell back on his arse. "She did this," he whispered. At Geralt's expression of confusion, he jumped back up and waved his arms wildly. "She threatened me! Right before she died, Geralt. She _cursed_ me!"

Geralt blinked once. "Fuck."

*

Jaskier stared at his reflection. He was about the size of a doll, if he had to guess, not as small as a mouse but not as big as a toddler. Excluding that, he looked like himself. "What kind of curse is this?" he asked with a frown, turning around. He was standing on the only piece of furniture in the room, excluding the bed, a rickety table with a cracked mirror propped on it.

Geralt, the big oaf, had been pacing the room since they had gotten out of bed.

"You realize you're not helping."

Geralt suddenly stopped, turning toward him. His shoulders were tense, lips pressed together in a thin line. He looked more like the one who'd been cursed than Jaskier. "This isn't good, Jaskier."

"I mean, obviously," he replied, tilting his head to the side. "But all we need is to find Yennefer, and she should be able to break the curse." He paused. "Right?"

Geralt shrugged, looking away. He began to pace the room again. Jaskier rolled his eyes, sitting on the table, legs dangling over the edge.

"Even if she could," he started after a long stretch of silence, "we haven't exactly been on speaking terms for a while. I wouldn't know how—or where—to find her."

Right. Ever since they had broken up, they hadn't been talking. Yennefer didn't seem hurt by it as much as insulted, really, that any man—or woman—would dare to turn her down. Jaskier had admittedly found the whole thing kind of amusing. And if he had celebrated, later, well, that was his own secret.

"Okay," he said. "Well, we'll just have to search for her the old-fashioned way."

Geralt stopped again, looking at him like he was crazy. "Travel? With you like that?"

Jaskier frowned, folding his arms over his chest. "Hey, what is that supposed to mean?"

He sighed heavily, looking away again. His jaw was tight, clenched. He opened his mouth, closed it a few times before finally getting the words out: "You—you were already vulnerable, Jaskier, traveling with me as a human. And now? You could be hurt—or worse—so much easier. Hell, Roach could accidentally trample you and you'd probably die."

Jaskier realized he had a fair point, and he was a little scared, sure, but he had always trusted Geralt to protect him and that hadn't changed. "We don't really have any other options, do we?"

Geralt's shoulders slumped. "No," he agreed solemnly. "We don't."

*

They received many odd looks as they left the inn with Jaskier tucked under his arm. Maybe to an outsider, he just appeared as a very underdeveloped child. That seemed to be Geralt's hope, at least.

Jaskier wiggled out of his grip once they walked around the inn, landing heavily— _splat_ —on the ground. He didn't expect to be snatched right back up, and furthermore he didn't expect the look of worry on the other man's face.

"Why did you do that?" he asked hurriedly. "You could've been hurt!"

Jaskier blinked once, feeling oddly guilty. "I just—I don't like being carried around like a sack of potatoes, okay?" he huffed.

Geralt stared at him for a moment longer before nodding, seeming to relax. "Okay," he replied gruffly. He gently placed him on Roach, legs so small he couldn't even properly straddle her, before settling in behind him. Jaskier felt stupidly little between Geralt's legs, but also safe.

His cheeks burned as Geralt reached around him and grabbed her reins. "I'll go slow."

Jaskier huffed again. "I was shrunken, Geralt, I'm not a baby."

"I know that," he replied after a long wait, an odd tilt to his voice.

Without another word, they trotted out from behind the inn and down the dirt road.

*

A few hours later, they stopped in the woods. Jaskier tried to jump off Roach, momentarily forgetting, but Geralt quickly intervened, a look of exhaustion on his face. " _Please_ ," he begged, and all he could do was nod. He wasn't sure if he had ever said please to him before.

Geralt pulled out their bedrolls, unrolling them, before placing him on his own. It was huge.

He watched, silent, as Geralt started a fire. His shoulders were tense, jaw clenched.

Jaskier wondered if he would leave him, eventually, if they couldn't find Yennefer. He had been right about his job—no, his _life_ —being dangerous. It was only a matter of time before he was hurt or killed in this body. If he left him, he would be doing it for his own good.

And yet the thought still hurt, like an arrow through the heart.

They had grown closer over the decades, and the thought of being abandoned—now—was just too painful. Jaskier subsequently pushed it away.

Jaskier barely even noticed he was being stalked until—suddenly he was yanked back by the collar of his shirt with a yelp. Geralt spun around. "Jaskier!"

He struggled, dangling helplessly in the air. He didn't know what was going on, yet, but he knew it wasn't good, heart pounding. Geralt stood up and ran over, unsheathing his sword.

Thankfully he didn't need to strike. Jaskier fell with an _oof_ and snapped his head in the direction of the assailant—a red fox—as the animal ran off, disappearing between bushes.

He took a shaky breath.

Geralt dropped on his knees in front of him, hands hovering awkwardly in the air like he wanted to touch but didn't know if he should. Jaskier looked up at him and slapped on a sheepish smile. "I was almost a fox's dinner." A brief pause. "Never thought I'd be saying that."

"Don't joke about that," he replied instantly. "I was right. We'll have to be more careful."

After they had eaten, and Geralt had stomped out the fire, all part of their usual routine, he joined Jaskier in his bedroll, easily slipping under the flap. Jaskier blinked at the development.

It wasn't unwelcomed, of course. Actually, Jaskier had had _many_ dreams like this. Not to mention, they did push their bedrolls together on cold nights for warmth. But this was especially intimate. Jaskier could feel every breath he took.

"Is there a reason for—?" he started to ask.

Geralt grunted, protectively wrapping an arm around him. "Safer this way."

Jaskier supposed that was true. He certainly felt safer. Wiggling closer, because if they were doing this, he was making the most of it, he closed his eyes with a soft sigh.

*

They quickly ran out of money. Geralt was against taking a job with Jaskier in his current form, and he couldn't rightfully perform like this. Thankfully, they mostly stuck to the woods but Jaskier was aware of Geralt's lack of sleep; he seemed terrified to close his eyes.

He knew the fox incident probably had a lot do with it, and he couldn't really blame him. His own life had flashed before his eyes.

So.

"Are we nearing a town?" he asked, propped in front of Geralt on the back of Roach.

Geralt grunted, "Yes."

"Good," he replied, twisting around to look at him. "We should stop there for a few days."

A few nights in town would mean a few nights of decent rest for the man. Geralt stared at him. Jaskier stared back, unwavering. He might've been small, but he was still as stubborn as ever.

"I don't know if that's a good idea," he said finally. "Animals are predictable, Jaskier." He looked up, frowning. "Humans are not. It'll be safer if we stay out here."

He supposed he had a fair point. Humans could be unpredictable and cruel. It was basically how he ended up here, though it was debatable if mages were even human or not. He was starting to lean toward the latter. The mages he met, at least, were more monstrous than Geralt.

"But you can't sleep," he argued gently. His voice was still squeaky and small—no helping that—but he was getting used to it. Then, because he knew the other man: "How are you supposed to protect me if you're not at your best?"

He knew that would be the final strike, and he was right.

Geralt stared ahead, nodding curtly. "Okay. A couple nights and no more."

*

The first night went swimmingly. They reached the town and booked a room at the local inn. Jaskier watched as Geralt drifted off, snoring softly. Pleased, he joined him. Maybe luck was starting to side with them. Had to happen eventually, right? The morning started off just as uneventful and boring.

Geralt was against Jaskier accompanying him to the tavern, so:

"Stay here," he said, and Jaskier nodded quickly.

He watched as Geralt left the room, swords on his back. Sighing, he fell back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. It wasn't like he wanted to be doll-sized, obviously, especially because he disliked being a burden, but it wasn't the worst curse he could imagine.

Geralt kept him safe, and he wasn't in any pain.

He could only hope they would find Yennefer—or any mage at this point—soon.

Taking a deep breath, chest expanding, he closed his eyes.

Jaskier jerked to the creak of the door opening, eyes snapping open. He wondered how long he had dozed. " _Geralt!"_ he exclaimed as he sat up. "Took you long enough."

But—

It wasn't Geralt. Three men stood in the doorway, eyes dark.

"Fuck!" A nasty laugh. "You weren't fucking kidding."

Jaskier scrambled to his feet, but he wasn't much of a sight, he knew. He wondered suddenly if his daggers had shrunk with him, like his clothes, but they couldn't be bigger than needles, so he didn't bother. "Get out of here," he said, but he also knew his voice wasn't much to fear. "My—my friend will be back any second and he will—"

They entered the room, kicking the door shut. Jaskier didn't startle. He wouldn't give them the satisfaction.

The biggest of the men—the leader, he guessed—stepped forward, mouth twisting nastily. "Oh, we know," he said with a bitter laugh. "Why do you think we're here?"

"Your kind ain't welcomed here."

Jaskier stared at them, unyielding. "I'll let my partner know that," he said, slow and even, "and we'll be gone as soon as we finish breakfast. Nothing for you to worry about."

"Are we supposed to be scared of ya?" Closer now, the leader yanked him up by the collar of his shirt. He suddenly remembered the fox. This was far more terrifying. Geralt had been right; animals weren't cruel. No, they hunted for _survival_. These men were _cruel_. Jaskier dangled helplessly in the air. He knew there was no point in struggling.

He had picked up on a few things over the years, but even still he couldn't take these men at his usual size. They were just too big, doll-sized or not. He had no chance in this body.

Jaskier was starting to slowly understand the real horror of the curse. It wasn't the curse at all. It was the cruelty of others.

Of humans.

Jaskier's eyes flickered over the man's shoulder. His chest expanded with a soft laugh. He shook him violently. "What are ya laughing at?"

"You might not be scared of me," he said lightly, "but I think you'll be scared of him."

He was immediately dropped like a bag of hot coals and hit the bed with an _oof_ , rolling off the edge and falling even harder to the floor with a _thump_. He quickly scrambled up, watching the scene unfold before him.

Geralt entered the room, sword drawn. He got a sick satisfaction out of watching the men tremble. He was pretty sure one had even pissed himself. But when Geralt lifted his sword, eyes dark with rage, he knew he had to intervene before he did something he would regret:

" _Stop!_ " he shouted, standing up on shaky legs. Geralt startled, looking at him.

That gave the men just enough time to dart around him and out of the room. Growling, he twisted around but Jaskier rushed him, tackling one of his legs. Not a very manly move, but it would have to do.

Geralt peered down at him. "What are you doing? I should go after them!"

Jaskier hugged his leg. "And do what?" he asked. "Kill them?"

_"Yes!_ " he exclaimed without missing a beat. "They deserve it after—"

Jaskier pulled back. "But look at me," he said. "I'm fine. They just wanted to scare me."

Geralt growled again as he crouched down, letting his sword fall with a _clatter_. "Fine?" he asked, eyes still dark. He reached out, and Jaskier winced when his thumb touched his mouth, wiping sideways. When he pulled his hand back, Jaskier noticed the spot of red on the tip of his thumb. "Your nose is bleeding. It might be broken, Jaskier."

He made to stand up again. Jaskier stopped him again, grabbing his hand. "That happened when I fell off the bed," he said quickly. "They didn't do it." Geralt stared at him. "I swear."

"You don't want me to go after them," he said after a long stretch of silence.

Jaskier smiled a little, unsure and tense. "No, not really."

His eyes flickered away. "Why not? They deserve it," he said with a certainty that was hard to argue. And really, Jaskier didn't disagree.

"Sure," he agreed, staring down at Geralt's hand. His hand was rough, just like the rest of him, calloused with a dozen small scars. "But not at your hands."

Geralt let out a low hum, and he looked up. He was watching him closely, like he was trying to figure out the answer to a riddle that wasn't there. Jaskier smiled again.

"You don't like to get involved in human affairs," he reminded him gently.

Geralt's mouth twitched. "But I will," he said tersely. Then he looked away. If Jaskier didn't know better, but he did, he would say he almost looked bashful. "For you," he added after a few beats.

Jaskier's heart was tight in his chest, a million butterflies dancing behind his rib cage. But now wasn't the time.

"We should just pack up and go," he said. "Get out of here and move on."

Geralt visibly hesitated for a long moment before finally nodding, seeming to decide. He packed their things, as he was quicker, while Jaskier watched, feeling useless. He had always suffered with that feeling, to be fair, but now it was tenfold. He couldn't do much, but at least he could help pack at his normal size.

It really was only a matter of time before Geralt abandoned him.

He could only hope they'd find Yennefer before he had a change of heart.

*

After that, they stayed out of towns and Jaskier didn't question Geralt's judgment again. Thankfully luck seemed to be on their side, finally, as they continued traveling. No interruptions, no near-death experiences. Jaskier rode on the front of Roach, safe between Geralt's legs.

When they were walking, Geralt carried him in the crook of his arm. Jaskier wasn't complaining; it was better than being slung under his arm like a bag of potatoes.

He wasn't allowed down very often unless they were camping for the night and even then Geralt didn't let him wander very far before calling him back with a displeased frown.

"Don't do that," he would say, an odd tilt to his voice. "Stay close."

Jaskier realized only after the third or so time that his voice sounded odd because he was worried beyond what he had ever heard before. He was worried about him. It shouldn't have been surprising—they had been friends for so long—but he still found himself thinking about it long after they had curled up—together—in Geralt's bedroll to sleep.

Which was a new development, but entirely logical.

No less overwhelming, of course, as Jaskier would roll over and just barely be able to see the harsh curves of Geralt's face in the darkness of night.

If this had happened just a few months, even years, after they had first met, would he have stayed like this? Would he have helped him find Yennefer?

Probably not, he knew, but Geralt always did have a way of surprising him.

Jaskier let out a soft sigh and closed his eyes, wiggling closer. He could smell Geralt all around him.

*

"You don't have to treat me like I'm that fragile," Jaskier commented after a few days, entirely fond, as they walked through a small town. Geralt was still carrying him. He hadn't put him down since they had entered the small town, glaring at every townsfolk that wandered too close. "I'm small, not made of glass."

Geralt grunted, sharply turning. Jaskier assumed he knew where he was going, though he didn't bother to ask.

"Same difference," he grumbled as he stopped in front of a quaint little cottage on the outskirts of the town.

Jaskier squinted at the unsuspecting exterior. "I thought we were looking for Yennefer."

"We are," he remarked, shifting him under his arm, "and I feel her."

Jaskier made a face. "Do I even want to know what that means?" he asked, promptly ignoring the ugly jealously that clawed at his heart.

Geralt glared at him, mouth a thin line. "I feel her _magic_ ," he replied dryly. "Impressive as always, which means she might actually be able to help you." He paused briefly. "Us," he corrected, looking away.

His jealously fell away like it had never been there. He smiled slightly. "Well?" When Geralt just stared at him, Jaskier let out a soft laugh, gesturing at the door. "You should probably knock."

"Right," he replied curtly, quickly tapping his knuckles against the wood.

One, two, three.

The door opened after his third knock and sure enough he had been right: Yennefer stood on the other side, looking entirely unimpressed—but notably not surprised—with their presence.

But that changed a little when her eyes fell upon on Jaskier, cradled protectively even now in Geralt's arms. "How do you always manage to get involved in such silly antics?"

She reached out to poke him, but Jaskier slapped her hand away.

Geralt cleared his throat. "We need your help," he said.

"Obviously," she replied instantly. Before they could say much more, or beg—Jaskier was willing to beg: "Fine, I'll do it." She flicked her hair back, turning away. "Follow me."

*

Geralt was a little more lax, now, than he had been on the road. That was evident by the fact Jaskier woke up and he was alone for the first time in days. He sat up and looked around the room. He remembered their conversation from last night.

("What?" Geralt said impatiently. "Can't you do something about it _now?_ "

Yennefer stared at him boredly from across the table. "I'm not a miracle worker, Geralt. It'll take me a few days to figure something out.")

She had at least given them permission to stay for those few days. Jaskier stretched, scooting to the edge of the bed and slipping off with a _thump_. He walked to the door, thoughtfully left open for him since he couldn't reach the doorknob. Once out of the room, he started off toward the kitchen.

His stomach grumbled, hungry, as he walked down the hallway.

Jaskier was just a few steps from the kitchen when he heard the soft chatter of conversation:

"Really? Nothing?" Geralt's voice, just as impatient as the night before.

Jaskier shuffled a little closer, listening. He knew eavesdropping wasn't right, but he was hardly a saint. Add one more thing to the list.

"I've never exactly dealt with a situation like this," she replied sharply. "I'm sure I can figure something out if I just keep looking."

He took one last step, peering around the doorway. They sat at the kitchen table, empty plates in front of them. Jaskier fidgeted with the hem of his shirt as he silently observed; Geralt leaned his elbows on the table, burying his face in his hands.

Yennefer stared at him with a curious expression. "What will you do?" she asked after a long stretch of silence. "If I can't break the curse?"

Jaskier's heart squeezed almost painfully in his chest. He almost debated turning and running back to the room. He wasn't sure if he wanted to hear the answer. Because he knew Geralt couldn't keep doing this, traveling with him like this. He was a burden—even more than usual—in this body.

But he didn't want to be left behind. He didn't want to part ways.

Geralt lifted his gaze. "I'll take him with me," he said, slow and even, "and we'll keep searching until we find a mage that can."

Yennefer's mouth twisted, just the tiniest of smiles. "And if that never happens?"

He didn't answer for a few long torturous seconds. Jaskier pressed a hand over his heart, holding his breath.

"It will," he said finally, simply.

Jaskier finally breathed.

Yennefer nodded, looking pleased enough. "Well, go wake him up. I have something to try."

Geralt blinked. "You do?" he asked, already standing up. "But you said—"

She waved her hand back and forth in the air. "Yes, I _know_ what I said," she interrupted breezily. "Now go."

Jaskier ran and rushed back to the room, no longer interested in food. When Geralt appeared in the doorway a few minutes later, he was silent for too long. Jaskier sat up, stomach churning.

"You heard," Geralt said knowingly.

He nodded. "Sorry."

Geralt walked over and sat on the very edge of the bed, staring out of the window. A bird was perched on the windowsill, chirping loudly. Jaskier waited. For once in his life, he was unsure of what to say.

"These last few days have been—" Geralt started before pausing, shaking his head, looking at Jaskier. "Difficult," he said with a small smile. "The idea of something happening to you, Jaskier, it's—I can't stand it."

Jaskier smiled back slightly, hesitant.

"If I was a less selfish man," he continued, "I would do the right thing and tell you—after this—that you should go your own way. It'd be safer that way."

Jaskier's smile fell away, blood running cold. He had already dealt with this once—on the mountain—and he had hoped he would never need to deal with it again. A hand on his own, and he snapped out of it, looking up with surprise. Geralt's hand was warm and rough, and so much bigger than his own.

"But I've realized just how selfish I can be over the years," he said, mouth twisting oddly. He had never seen him look quite so nervous. "Jaskier, I—"

Sharp footsteps and then:

"Hello, boys," Yennefer said, appearing in the doorway. "Ready?"

Geralt closed his eyes, taking a deep breath and pulling his hand away. "Yes."

Jaskier wanted to ask him to continue, but he knew now wasn't the time. _Later_ , he thought.

*

Jaskier startled when Yennefer reentered the room and dropped a doll next to him. "Um." He stared skeptically at the doll for a long moment before turning to look at her. She was standing next to Geralt, who looked equally as confused. 

"I could try and break the curse," she said, flicking hair off her shoulder, "but that puts Jaskier at risk. One mistake, and who knows what could happen."

Jaskier ignored the shiver that ran down his spine. He stared at Geralt, comforted by his presence. Geralt stared back, arms folded over his chest.

"But if I _redirect_ the curse," she continued with a small smirk.

Geralt finally tore his eyes away from Jaskier to look at her. "You're going to move the curse... to an actual doll?" he asked with disbelief and what sounded like a hint of amusement.

Yennefer shrugged. "Redirecting is safer than breaking," she explained. "After, we burn the doll and the curse will simply cease to exist." She looked at Jaskier. "If it doesn't work, the doll should face the brunt of it, but." She paused long enough for him to understand. "You're the cursed one; you should make the choice."

He stared at her. She looked completely relaxed, but her eyes betrayed her worry.

"Do it," he said with a confidence he did not feel.

Geralt took a step forward. "Wait," he said. Yennefer sighed. "Just let me have a moment with him."

She blinked at him, unimpressed. "Fine. Three minutes. Make 'em count."

Without waiting for a reply, she walked out of the room. Jaskier listened as her sharp footsteps continued down the hall before finally disappearing. Geralt crouched down in front of him, eyeing the doll. Jaskier wondered briefly if the doll belonged to Yennefer, and why she had it.

"Geralt," Jaskier said, reaching out for him. He turned toward him and their hands met, small and big. "I'll be okay."

His eyes darkened, frowning. "You don't know that."

"Well, I can't be stuck like this," he replied lightly. Geralt opened his mouth, and he continued, "Not just because of you, or us, but for me. I don't doubt you would protect me, Geralt, for as long as I needed it, but I can't ask that of you."

He was silent for a few long seconds. Jaskier waited despite being on a time crunch.

"I wanted to tell you something earlier," he said, "before we were interrupted."

Jaskier swallowed around the lump in his throat. "I know," he whispered. "Wait."

Geralt looked physically pained by the suggestion. "But I need you to know, Jaskier," he said, a desperate edge to his voice he had never heard before. "In case something happens, I need you know the truth." He paused, eyes flickering away. "How I feel."

"Nothing will happen," he assured him through the rushing in his ears. Jaskier ignored the hope in his chest, so warm and lovely. "Yennefer will do this. I'll be okay, and then we can talk."

Geralt turned his head back and nodded once. "Okay."

Yennefer returned not even a minute later, glancing between them. There was something too knowing in her gaze. "Done?"

All Jaskier could do was nod. Satisfied, she started.

He was conscious for the first couple of minutes, listening as she chanted something under her breath, watching as blue sparks filled the air all around them. He could feel it, like a drumbeat under his skin.

He never took his eyes off Geralt.

Until—finally, he felt nothing. Heard nothing. Saw nothing.

*

Jaskier opened his eyes with a gasp, sitting up. That was a mistake, he quickly realized, as the room spun and he fell back.

He felt a presence and forced his eyes open again; Geralt was standing over him, mouth twisted in worry. Jaskier smiled, though it probably wasn't very convincing. Geralt reached out and cupped the side of his face.

He could feel it. Geralt's hand no longer engulfed his face, but was an almost perfect fit.

"I'm—I'm—" he stammered, unable to find the words.

Geralt nodded. "We wanted to wait for you to wake up before we burned the doll," he said with a hint of amusement. "Thought you might want to be around to see it."

Jaskier leaned into his touch. "Ah, you know me so well," he muttered, eyelashes fluttering. He felt okay, really, beyond the intense pounding in his skull. But he would ask Yennefer about that later.

"Yen left, said something about needing ingredients from the market," he continued as he lowered himself into a chair next to the bed. How long he had been sitting there, waiting for him to wake up? Jaskier's chest was alive with butterflies, thousands of them. "But I think she just knew we needed time to talk."

He nodded. "She can be surprisingly observant."

Geralt smiled a little. "To be fair, I don't think I was being very discreet." He paused, looking down. "You've been out of it for three days, Jaskier. I was starting to think you would never—"

Jaskier reached out, and Geralt silently took his hand. "But I did."

"You did," he confirmed, looking up.

Jaskier was usually so good with words and yet suddenly he was truly and utterly speechless. He had so much to say, and couldn't find any of the words. He squeezed his hand. As if that was the motivation he needed, Geralt said, "I've realized something."

Jaskier nodded, stroking his thumb across his knuckles, a silent comfort.

"I don't want to lose you," he continued, voice thick. "I mean, you're human. I know you will—" he cleared his throat, looking pained "— _die_ , eventually, but I want to prolong that for as long as possible. But more importantly, I want to be by your side for all of it. Every second of your life."

Jaskier licked his lips. "That's all I ever wanted," he admitted softly.

"I know," he said, looking down at their hands. "But do you still want it, even after—after everything I've done?"

Jaskier remembered suddenly and vividly their fight on the mountain. That had been so long ago and yet the wound was still fresh. "I will always want that," he answered quietly. His heart pounded; if they were confessing, he might as well go for the meat of it. "And more."

Geralt visibly startled, lifting his gaze. Jaskier smiled. He slowly smiled back.

*

It was an odd scene; Jaskier, Geralt, and Yennefer standing over a fire. He held the doll in his hands. If he focused hard enough, he could almost feel the power buried deep in it.

"I never did ask," he started, looking over at the mage, "why are you here of all places?"

Yennefer shrugged, folding her arms over her chest. She was dressed immaculately as always. She looked like she belonged at a banquet, not a bonfire. "Where else would I be?"

Jaskier frowned, looking down at the wild flames. He almost felt bad for her, especially after she had saved him. "You could come with us," he said, lifting his head.

He saw Geralt's reaction out of the corner of his eye, the way his shoulders tensed and he bit the inside of his cheek. Perhaps he should've discussed inviting his ex, especially after earlier, but it was too late now. Yennefer watched him with an odd quirk to her mouth.

"What, so I can watch as you and Geralt fuck under the stars?"

Jaskier flushed; he had heard worse—oh, he had _said_ worse—but he hadn't been expecting such crude words out her mouth.

Geralt gaped like a fish. "How do you—"

She lifted a hand. "I'm not an idiot, Geralt," she said with a small smirk.

Jaskier smiled sheepishly, scratching his cheek. The doll felt especially heavy in his hands all of a sudden. Geralt sighed, stepping to the side, closer to him. He visibly hesitated for a second before reaching up and wrapping an arm around Jaskier's shoulders, tilting his chin up.

"We are—together now, yes, but the offer still stands."

Jaskier's chest exploded with butterflies. Together. _Them_. He ducked his head, face red. He had been dreaming of this for a while, but that was all it had ever been: a dream. A fantasy, really, but now it was reality. He felt warm all over, and not just from the fire.

"I'll think about it," she said after a long stretch of silence. She nodded at the fire. "Jaskier?"

Jaskier startled, squeezing the doll as he looked down at it. "Okay, well, before I do it, I have a few things I want to say."

Yennefer rolled her eyes with a dramatic sigh, but he just continued:

"First of all—thank you, Yennefer." He smiled at her, and she blinked once, eyes widening briefly, before nodding curtly. "We haven't always had the best—relationship, but I think that could change, given time and effort." He paused. "From both sides."

Geralt leaned into his space, and he welcomed it.

"Secondly, thank _you_ ," he said, lifting the doll. "If it wasn't for the curse, and all that followed, I don't know if—if any of this would've happened." He glanced at Geralt, smiling a little. "We needed the push."

Jaskier tucked the doll under his arm and turned to Geralt.

"And lastly, maybe most importantly—thank you, Geralt." He reached up and cupped the side of his face. He tensed for a second before relaxing, fighting instincts. Jaskier smiled a little wider. "For everything." There was so much more to say, and he might've said it, if not for the audience. Clearing his throat, he pulled his hand away and turned back to the fire, lifting the doll again.

" _Now_ —"

Suddenly he was spun back around and there was a warm press against his mouth. It was a long moment before Jaskier registered that the warm press was another mouth; Geralt's mouth. He kissed back, eyelashes fluttering, before remembering—"Right, yes!" He pulled back, glancing at Yennefer and expecting anger or betrayal or even sadness.

But she was simply watching them with mild amusement. "Oh, no," she said. "Don't worry about me." She tilted her head to the side. "Just enjoying the show."

Jaskier rolled his eyes, now, turning back to the fire. "Yes, yes, laugh all you want."

" _Now_ ," Geralt said, reaching for his free hand and squeezing, staring at the fire.

Jaskier nodded and lifted the doll for a final time. It was odd, really, to be so thankful for a curse. But he hadn't been joking; who knew if they would've confessed if not for it? They both could be surprisingly dense, and equally as stubborn. Smiling softly, he tossed it in the fire.


End file.
